Perdition (20 page)

“Hey,” I said waving my hand in front of his face. “Dissipates after what?”

He moved his weight from foot to foot again, and he exuded sticky guilt energy that felt like tar when it hit my skin. Guilt over what? How his little tracker tag dissipated? Or why? Bile rose in my throat, and the moth flew up to land on Zamora’s head, ruffling its wings again.

“Dissipates after you kill them?” My voice squeaked and my head felt woozy.

Zamora sighed, and looked me in the eyes.

“That’s not what we’re here to talk about.”

“And what, pray tell, is more important than you killing people?”

“Sarkis has a capture contract out on you.”

A bolt of fear shot from my head to my toes, and purple-caftan lady’s table shot over on its side, slinging her gold, lame tablecloth and several other items onto the grass strip behind her. I closed my eyes, silently apologized to the woman, and tried to contain myself. It was silly to worry, I told myself. Zamora wasn’t going to grab me right here in broad daylight. Of course, he could always pull a gun on me and keep it hidden between his leather vest and the wall.

My eyes flew back open, and I scanned his body. He lifted his hands up palms out, and I jumped. The pop-up canopy of the vendor next to purple-caftan lady launched into the air and landed in the sand several feet away.

“No,” Zamora said. “I’m not going to hurt you or kidnap you. But I’m asking that you come with me. I can keep you safe.”

“You’re on speaking terms with the man trying to kidnap me?”

“Yes. No. Not really. I do jobs for him from time to time.”

He stepped toward me, and I retreated.

“Jobs? What kind of jobs?”

I had come out—alone—to talk to one of Sarkis’s employees?

“That doesn’t matter. You’re not like them. You’re a pure spirit, I sense it.”

“Pure spirit?” Shock tends to make me parrot people, and I was plenty shocked at the moment.

“I don’t know exactly what you are, but you feel different.”

“Feel different? So did you ‘feel’ me when you pseudo raped me with your little tracker?”

He cringed and blushed.

“Your spirit isn’t tainted with evil. It’s filled with bright, pure light. You’re not like the others Sarkis wanted.”

“You capture paranormals and give them to Sarkis to experiment on?” A short bark of laughter escaped me, but it held no humor. “Wow, I thought I was screwed up. At least I only hurt people on accident.”

He pulled his hand down his face and glanced upward before starting again. He tried to put a hand on my shoulder, but pulled it back when a spark snapped him.

“Marlee, I haven’t been able to get you out of my thoughts and prayers since I met you. God told me we are supposed to be together for some reason.”

“Oh, that’s another thing we don’t have in common. I don’t hallucinate God talking to me either.” I turned and strode away back toward the side street. Zamora followed me.

“Marlee, listen to me.” He grabbed my arm and held on through the pain of a giant static shock. Gently, he turned me.

“You need to come with me. The . . . creature you’re with is dangerous. Sarkis is looking for you. My men and I can keep you safe.”

“The
creature
is my friend, and he’s already keeping me safe.” The murderous look on Rune’s face when he banished me from the weapon’s room flashed through my mind. Would he still want to help me after what I’d done to him, his apartment, and his club?

Zamora read the hesitation and uncertainty on my face. He put his other hand on my other shoulder, making me look at him, our faces just inches apart.

“I’m not taking no for an answer. Sarkis can’t be allowed to get to you.”

“So are you forcing me?” I asked.

Again, he looked up as if he expected God to give him the answer. Or maybe I was just driving him nuts. I had that effect on people. When he looked back to me, he was calmer.

“No. I won’t force you, but you need to come with me. I am your safest option. It’s crucial you believe me.”

I couldn’t continue to destroy Rune’s life. It wasn’t fair to him. Plus, I’d pushed him pretty far last night, and he’d felt wounded-animal dangerous. Now I’d exposed him to Zamora and his men. I also couldn’t go home or back to work. Sarkis’s men had been to both places and would be watching them. Sarkis had government connections, so the police were out of the question.

I looked Zamora up and down and tried to see his aura as I’d seen several other people’s lately. It took a few seconds of experimenting: squinting my eyes, turning my head to catch him out of my peripheral vision, then just plain staring. He looked uncomfortable like he thought I may be losing my mind, which is what it probably looked like, but he had the sense to stay quiet during the odd display. Finally, I tried losing focus a little when I looked at him like I did with those weird dot pictures from the 90s where there was a picture underneath if you could only focus right. As if focusing a camera lens, as soon as I reached a certain degree of un-focus, his aura melted into view.

“Cool,” I said.

“What?” Zamora scanned the area, then himself, attempting to see what I was talking about. The color of his auras moved with him.

“Shh. Be still,” I said. To my amazement, he did what I told him, although his “she’s losing it” expression deepened.

There were definite dark masses swirling around his torso—hazy blacks, browns, and grays. His head was a different story, as if it belonged to another person. Shining yellows and golds swirled around his head with little sparks of orange flashing intermittently like tiny lightening bolts from his scalp. All of his auras were encased in the shimmering silver outer glow that he’d been suffused in the day I met him. I had no idea what those colors meant.

Gold of truth and orange of worry.
To my shock, the voice came from the moth, which still sat on Zamora’s head.

Awesome. The bugs are talking to me now. I shouldn’t be surprised.

Vampires, werewolves, psychic bikers, and chatty bugs. My life seriously resembled an episode of
The Twilight Zone
. But on a weird level, I trusted the moth. I got good vibes from him, sort of the Jiminy Cricket of the moth world. I almost smiled, but thought that would probably put the cap on my “losing it” facade. Besides, it wasn’t really funny. It was just my stress-induced smart-ass seeping to the surface.

Zamora looked at the overhang above us, trying to figure out what I was looking at.

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

“Sure. Great. Why?”

Worry crept into his eyes, pulling his brows down a fraction. Time to change the subject.

“You won’t hurt Rune if I agree?” I asked.

“No.”

“Your men won’t either?”

“No.”

“And you’re not just tricking me into going with you so you can take me to Sarkis?”

“No.”

His face remained calm and unreadable. Not even a twitch. I unfocused a little, and his aura popped right into view this time. The gold and yellow still glowed around his head. The moth open and closed its wings a few times but didn’t say anything, which was just fine with me.

“Do you have a secure, as in nontraceable, phone?” I asked.

“No.”

A blast of pent-up breath I hadn’t realized I was holding escaped my lungs. The moth launched from Zamora’s head and fluttered around a pillar and out of sight.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll go with you, but I need twenty minutes or so to gather my stuff and make a few calls.”
And torture myself over my decision.

He checked his watch. “Twenty minutes and my men and I assume you’re in trouble and come in to get you.”

No changing my mind now, although I might have never had a choice to begin with. What if I’d said no? No use thinking about it. I’d already opened my mouth.

Back in Rune’s apartment, I gathered my clothes, backpack, and after a debate with myself, two more of the outfits and some undergarments from the bed.

I found a pen and notepad in the kitchen drawer and scratched out a short message for Rune, which consisted of
“
I’m sorry. I’ll pay you back for the clothes and the breakage when I can
.”
If I lived long enough.

After a five-minute search, I found the phone right where I’d left it on the edge of the tub and dialed my cell phone’s voicemail again. To my surprise, I had a message.

When the caller announced his name, surprise gave way to terror.

CHAPTER TWELVE

A
LCATRAZ

“This is Doctor Vincent Sarkis. I have gone to great pains to meet with you to no avail, but I believe that will change. Your mother has come to visit me, and she will not be able to return home until you also come to visit. I will have a car waiting for you at the front entrance of the Block of Orange at noon today. Come alone. Do not be late. I’d hate for you to miss your mother.”

My hand shook so badly that I had to put the phone on the kitchen counter to press the disconnect button. At first, I couldn’t remember my parent’s phone number even though it had also been my phone number for twenty-six years. After a few panicked moments, I stabbed the number into the phone, then dropped the phone twice before I got it to my ear. My father answered.

“Hi, Dad—”

“Where’s your mother?” he shouted. His anger exploded through the connection, and I flinched and pulled the phone away from my ear. He continued shouting, but his ranting turned to static in the background of my racing thoughts. My mother never went anywhere without my father’s knowledge. They only had one car. She had to ask him for the keys and give a detailed schedule of where she would be, why she needed to go, and how long she’d be there. If my father didn’t know where she was, Sarkis had her.

Fear vibrated my nerves, setting them on fire. My father’s voice faded as the phone pulled away from my hand and floated to the ceiling where it joined almost everything that wasn’t fastened down in the apartment. The water in the fish tank sloshed back and forth, but thankfully the tank stayed put. The couch and bed weren’t so lucky. They hugged the ceiling as if the room had been flipped over.

I had to get out. Had to get to the Block of Orange in Orange County. Had to save my mother. I surveyed the items in the air. They would crash as soon as I left. The room would be destroyed again. I’d wrecked everything. The classroom the other night. Aunt Tibby. Rune’s life. My family’s life. My life. And now my mother was in danger because of me.

It had to end, and the only way that was going to happen was if I was out of the picture. With no chance of normalcy, I wouldn’t be losing much turning myself over to Sarkis. If he didn’t let Mom go, maybe I could save her before Sarkis incapacitated me.

The Block of Orange was over an hour away. A taxi or bus would take hours to get there. I needed a car to get there in time. How sophisticated was the panel van we rode in from Idaho? Could I drive it without shorting it out? And what about Zamora? If he knew what I planned, he would try to stop me.

I put my hand to my chest and concentrated on the small ball of Zamora’s energy—his tracking beacon. I pinched at my skin and pulled with the sizzling energy coursing through my body, working Zamora’s power from my chest wall into my fingers. I unfocused my gaze and a red glowing ball appeared in my hand. I tried to drop it, but it stuck to my fingers like gum. Attempting to smear it off on the counter didn’t work either. Plus on second thought, I didn’t want to draw Zamora and his men down here to Rune’s apartment. Maybe the tracker had to be attached to something living.

I raced up the stairs, punched in the code and made my way to the alley behind the building. The homeless woman still sat there wrapped in a blanket propped against the brick wall and dumpster. I leaned over and touched her shoulder. The red ball of energy melted into the blanket and disappeared into her. She threw off the blanket and yelled.

“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I thought you were someone else.”

She glared at me and grabbed the blanket. With much cussing a grunting, she stood and pushed her cart down the alley. I shoved my guilt away, secured the back door, set the alarm, and ran to the panel van. A wave of my hand unlocked the door, and I climbed up into the driver’s seat and eased the door shut. A quick search of the cab for the keys proved futile. Not that I really expected to find them. Tony was a sensible guy.

I covered the key slot to the ignition with my hand, closed my eyes, and pictured what I thought the inner mechanism would look like. I imagined the key in the slot and with a couple of twists of my hand, I turned the phantom key. The truck started, and I jumped back and yelped. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I hadn’t expected it to work.

The green moth landed on the windshield in front of me.

“No, no, no, no.” I swiped at the window to shoo it away. “I really don’t have time for hallucinations right now.” A twist of the windshield wiper knob sent the creepy bug fluttering away. I snapped on my seatbelt, and then laughed at the absurdity of the act. Here I was driving to my certain doom, and I was worried about vehicle safety. Laughter turned to gasping hiccups as I backed out and drove away. I strongly suspected I was losing it.

Sense of direction has never been my strong suit. After several minutes of wrong turns, I finally got onto the 405 freeway. By that time, the radio had died in a shower of sparks and the dome light had flared to life then exploded within its plastic enclosure. I thought of my father as I sat in traffic to keep from disabling the van altogether. He’d sounded so panicked when he’d yelled. I always had the impression that he would be happier if my mom and I disappeared from his life forever, but the anguish in his voice had been unmistakable.

It must have just been me he didn’t want around. That made a lot of sense, considering the last few days and the devastation I’d brought to loved ones and strangers alike.

The van coughed and the gauges on the dash faded to zero then surged back to life. I thought of Grandma’s rose garden the rest of the grueling drive to the rendezvous.

The Block of Orange was a large outdoor mall in typical Southern California style. The walkways resembled small boulevards complete with billboards above the stores, palm trees, kiosk vendors, and shoppers dressed in shorts and tank tops year-round. Cut-throat drivers jockeyed for parking spaces around pedestrians too engrossed in their mobile phones to notice the danger they were in. The panel van wouldn’t fit anywhere, so I parked it in the valet turnout and let the attendants worry about it. Payment wasn’t due until the driver picked the vehicle up, so my lack of funds wasn’t an issue. Guilt plagued me over cheating them out of their fee and Rune having to retrieve his van from either the parking lot staff or an impound yard, but it couldn’t be helped. The chance of saving my mom overshadowed my dishonesty.

Sarkis’s men were nowhere to be seen, so I stood at the entrance next to a micro-brewery/restaurant named Alcatraz. Through the restaurant’s windowed facade, a mural on the back wall depicted the Golden Gate Bridge and the island prison of Alcatraz. The irony of the theme brought a sad smile to my face. By handing myself over, I was committed to captivity—probably for the rest of my life.

Two people bumped my sides.

“Turn around and walk toward the back,” the man on the right said into my ear.

It was Mr. Smith. The other man, six-foot-six and built like a city bus, I didn’t recognize. As instructed, I turned and walked toward the back of the mall, toward the large, thirty-theater complex. When we got to the theater, Mr. Bus bought three tickets to a movie I hadn’t heard of, and we made our way down the south annex, but instead of stopping at the theater we’d bought tickets for, we continued on to the exit at the end of the hall. All the while, the two men scanned our surroundings. It was all very
Mission Impossible
.

The crowded theater amped me up like being plugged into an electrical socket. I fought furiously to keep my telekinesis at bay, trying to squelch my mounting fear of what lay ahead and replace it with thoughts of what was going on around me. Mr. Smith blatantly avoided any further contact with me, which I found amusing and depressing at the same time. Mr. Bus was either low man on the totem pole or stupidly brave. He nudged my back with his hand when I fell a little behind, and a small burst of power escaped my chest. A loud pop followed by the hiss of spraying water and yelps of surprise echoed out of the ladies room as we passed. I hoped that wasn’t my doing, but the chances of that were slim and none. Chalk another one up to the wrecking ball. Maybe I could make that my nickname—WB.

A black Cadillac Escalade waited outside the exit. Mr. Bus ushered me inside where a driver and two other men waited. He deposited me into the middle seat next to a hard-looking blond man in black cargo pants and a black polo shirt. I was just making up a nickname for him when something clicked next to me, and a fiery trail made its way up my arm.

When the burn hit my neck, the world went black.